


the boys are too refined

by ackleykidd



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Choking, Daddy Kink, Feminization, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 21:44:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ackleykidd/pseuds/ackleykidd
Summary: Richie’s parents always did claim that he couldn't distinguish between good and bad attention. He begins to see their side of the story.





	the boys are too refined

**Author's Note:**

> Title kind of from e.e. cummings' "the boys i mean are not refined," but really from "The Boys are Too Refined" by The Hush Sound.
> 
> Bill and Richie are college freshmen in this.

It’s an absolutely perfect Friday afternoon, complete with gorgeous Autumn weather, and, for Richie at least, no scheduled classes. Richie had woken up early, showered, and gotten ready, primed for a day dedicated to getting into as many hijinks as possible with his favorite person in the world.

The favorite person in question, however, is ruining those plans, ignoring Richie’s cajoling in favor of some bullshit homework assignment. Richie really should have thought twice before picking Bill as his favorite person, but it’s too late at this point.

“Hey, Big Bill”

Bill’s response is a distracted “Yeah, Rich?” He doesn't even spare a glance for Richie’s side of their shared room. Undeterred, Richie presses on.

“Let’s go hit up the dining hall; I’m absolutely fucking starving, and even your nerd ass must be tired of studying.”

“That’s okay, Ri-Richie; I have a huge paper due on M-Monday, and if i don't finish it today, I’ll be stuck dea-dealing with it into the weekend.” A completely reasonable answer, and one that Richie absolutely refuses to accept.

“Come onnnnn Big Bill, can’t you just take a teeny fuckin’ break to eat something?”

“N-no thanks, Rich. I have protein bars here if I start to get hu-hungry. Why don’t you text Ben or Bev?” The only other Losers who aren't at some Friday afternoon class or activity, and there’s a 90% chance that they’re currently boning—something, for the record, that Richie would love to be doing himself. With Bill. Right this second.

Richie just shakes his head, shrugging on his jean jacket and and heading towards the door. He’ll take his time walking across campus to the good dining hall, and with any luck Bill will be finished with his fucking homework by the time Richie returns.

  

Apparently Richie doesn't have any fuckin’ luck at all, because when he walks back into the dorm room an hour and change later, Bill is basically in the same exact position that Richie left him in: cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by textbooks and pens, typing away.

“Billy, my boy, you’re going to get bed sores if you don't get off your ass and take a break.” The ‘and give me some attention, asshole’ goes unspoken.

“Richie, I app-appreci- _appreciate_  your concern, but I’m fine.” 

Richie heaves his most dramatic sigh, flopping heavily onto his bed and resigning himself to scrolling through Instagram for however long it takes Bill to finish his stupid paper.

Or, as it turns out, for 5 minutes, before the weight of being ignored is simply too much to bear. He can’t resist sneaking peeks over to Bill’s side of the room, eventually giving up the pretense of using his phone in favor of staring directly at Bill.

Studious, dependable, responsible Bill, completely engrossed in some boring homework assignment. Every second that his nose is stuck in that heavy textbook, or his eyes are glued to his laptop, is another second that his attention isn’t on  _Richie_. A fact that Richie cannot stand, obviously. And so he decides to do what he does best; namely, making a nuisance of himself as to become impossible to ignore.

“Billiam, my dear chap, innit time for a cuppa? Wouldn't want the stick in your ass to get lodged any more firmly than it already is.”

“Not now, Richie; I have to get this paper done.” 

Richie’s ensuring pout is, maddeningly, not witnessed by Bill, who has once again busied himself with his homework.

Richie hops out of bed, grabbing something from his desk area and skipping out of the room. He makes a beeline towards the tiny kitchenette shared by the everyone on this floor and the one below it. In no time he has a bag of popcorn ready to take back to his dorm room—a bag of popcorn, and countless ways to annoy Billy boy. The smell itself would do the trick, not to mention Richie chewing loudly (mouth open, natch.) And, if all else fails, tossing the popped kernels across the small distance from his bed to Bill’s.

 

Richie returns to the bedroom and runs through all of these maneuvers, and whoops—perhaps he’s veered too far into annoying, because Big Bill actually snaps at him. 

“Richie.” He says through clenched teeth. “Not. Now.” His tone is mostly frustrated, but with a hard edge, and—oh. Richie is far from deterred; being ignored he can’t stand, but an annoyed William Denbrough? Finally something he can work with.

“Oh, come on Big Bill! Please?” he whines, elongating the “e” until he himself can’t stand it. “Don’t you have even a minute to spare for your favorite boy?”

He’s crossed to Bill’s side of the room by now, sitting on the edge of the bed and invading Bill’s space. His eyes are wide and he’s fluttering his eyelashes—Richie’s going for sexy, but can feel himself bordering on desperate. Bill must feel it too because he sighs, truly looking up at Richie for the first time.

“Fine, you win. Go back to your side of the room and give me five minutes to wrap up—then I’m all yours.”

Success.

  

Richie saunters the few feet back to his bed, smirking all the way.

“About time; I knew you couldn’t resist this sweet ass, Billiam darling.” Bill, to his credit, mostly ignores Richie’s gloating, gathering up his notes and taking his sweet time in shutting down his computer before clambering off of his bed, stretching and looking over at Richie, considering.

“Is that so, Richie?”

Richie’s parents always did claim that he couldn't distinguish between good and bad attention. He begins to see their side of the story as Bill crosses their tiny dorm room in a couple of strides, getting right up in Richie’s face where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed. Suddenly at a loss for words, Richie can only tilt his head back and gaze up into Bill’s eyes, blue as ever.

“Now, tell me,” says Bill, placing his hands on either side of Richie’s thighs and leaning down to give him a probing look, “Why are you so hell be-bent on making me fail Freshman English?”

And damned if it’s not hot, being crowded like this, surrounded and scrutinized, close enough to smell Bill’s body wash, and maybe a hint of last night’s cologne clinging to him stubbornly. Richie opens his mouth and closes it again; his brain seems to have gone blank, and he can’t quite think of a fitting response to Bill’s—obviously rhetorical, but when has that stopped Richie?—question.

“What? Noth-nothing to say?”

Richie grins guilelessly, shaking his head no.

“ _Maybe_  it’s because you’re a needy little slut who’s desperate for my attention” Bill muses, tone faux-contemplative and  _very_ condescending, which Richie is mildly ashamed to admit goes straight to his dick. Mildly ashamed and wildly turned on, if his quiet whimper is any indication.

“Low blow Big Bill” he wheezes, and how the hell is he out of breath before anyone has even touched him?

Bill rolls his eyes. “Isn’t this what you’ve been begging for all day? Didn’t you want my attention? Well, you have it now, you spoiled little princess.” 

And  _fuck_ , that does something to Richie. He tries to school his face into a neutral expression, but Bill is too fucking quick and too fucking perceptive; he already has a delighted look on own his face, and Richie pointedly decides not to acknowledge the comment. 

“C’mon, Billy boy” he wheedles, leaning up to steal a kiss.

Bill cuts him off with a sharp “No,” reaching out to stroke lightly down Richie’s throat and across his collarbones, left exposed by the low neck of his threadbare t-shirt. Richie whines, exasperated, trying again for a kiss that is once more denied by Bill.

“You didn't have a problem begging for attention when I was trying to get my paper done, right? So you’re going to have to beg me now, princess.”

Richie bristles a little even as he melts at the repeated endearment, just the right side of degrading, and  _excuse_  him—when the hell did stuttering Bill get so fucking smug, anyway? It simply won’t do, no matter how much Richie was the one panting for it in the first place. He knows exactly where Bill is trying to go with this, but he’s not about to give it up—not without a fight, at least.

Bill seems to realize as much; the hand that had been gliding around the nape of Richie’s necka second ago is now flexing lightly around his throat, a gentle warning. Bill, Richie thinks, just might be a mind reader. Richie swallows against the subtle pressure.

“C’mon, princess” Bill coos, sweet tone at odds with the intense look on his face. Richie, determined to be disagreeable for as long as he can manage, spits out “Stop calling me p—“

Bill doesn't let him get out the tail end of that sentence, left hand squeezing in earnest now as his right comes up to pat Richie’s cheek sharply. Not quite a slap, but apparently Richie’s cock didn't get the memo; it’s reacting all the same, jumping to strain against his zipper.

“Wh-why would I stop calling you a pri-princess when it’s t-true, baby?” And fuck if that doesn't fan the flames, this reminder that the person knocking him around is still his sweet, stuttering Bill Denbrough.

Richie opens his mouth to protest again, although at this point he isn't sure why he’s even bothering; they both know what he wants. But the fight, this game of resisting Bill for as long as he can, only adds to the fun. And so Richie opens his mouth to protest again, to do a dumb voice, to poke fun at Bill’s faltering speech, but Big Bill doesn't give him a chance, taking advantage of the opportunity to jam his thumb between Richie’s lips, hooking it in his cheek and stretching the side of Richie’s mouth open wide.

Richie valiantly tells himself that it isn't hot, but the warm flush of embarrassment that floods through him, reddening his cheeks and pooling low in his belly, is saying otherwise.

“Wh-why don’t you stop being such a little b-brat and start begging me for what you want?”

Richie slumps a little, nodding weakly and whispering, “Okay.”

“Good” says Bill approvingly, extricating his thumb from Richie’s mouth. Richie, for his part, doesn’t acknowledge the loss, but Bill gazes down at him knowingly anyway, and Richie is so, so screwed.

“Now, what is it that you need, baby?” asks Bill.

Richie glances around the room, suddenly shy. He bites his lip. “Need you” he admits, quietly, and apparently Bill has resolved to be a real bastard about this because he pretends like he can't hear it, asking “What was that, sweetheart?” 

Even when he’s acting impossible like this, Bill still has a sweetly amused look on his face, one that Richie absolutely cannot resist. He swallows his pride and keeps talking.

“Please, Bill, I need you to touch me, want your mouth on me.”

Bill grins, murmuring “Is that all?” before showering Richie with kisses—on the top of his head, all over his cheeks and chin and forehead and nose—quick soft little kisses that serve only to tease Richie further.

“Bill, come on, I need more, please” he whines, giving up on dignity entirely.

“Y-you need more, princess?” 

And Richie has to ask himself again—WHEN did Big Bill get  _this_ confident and  _this_ fucking smug? He makes a mental note to stop fawning over Bill quite as much before grumbling “No shit, Sherlock,” taking care to roll his eyes dramatically. 

Bill fists his hand in Richie’s hair, yanking his head back and growling “Are you getting a fu-fucking attitude with me,  _princess_?” 

Richie shrugs nonchalantly, barely able to suppress a moan at the sudden sharp pain, and it’s hardly a moment before Bill is on him, attacking Richie’s neck in away he knows will leave marks. He doesn't hold his noises back anymore, moaning and whimpering unabashedly.

“ _Fuck_ , Bill, more” Bill looks at him expectantly, eyebrows raised, until he grits out a “Please,” and then Bill obliges, sliding his hands under Richie’s shirt to stroke up his sides and over his nipples as Richie continues to demand (beg for, if he’s being honest) more. 

Bill pinches his right nipple sharply before pulling away, leaving Richie hunched and panting on the edge of the bed.

“Strip,” demands Bill, and Richie doesn't even think to argue; he’ll do fucking anything if it’ll get Bill’s hands and mouth back on him. While Richie is scrambling out of his jeans and t-shirt, Bill only undoes a couple of the buttons on his worn flannel. Standing there in his boxer briefs, being appraised by a fully-clothed Bill  _should not_ be this hot, but Richie is absolutely burning up, especially when Bill crowds into his space once more.

“When I say st-strip, that means everything, baby girl.” 

Jesus fucking Christ on a cocksucking cracker. Richie’s knees buckle; by this point he had almost gotten used to the princess thing, could shrug it off. But Bill is apparently on a roll with the degrading endearments, and Richie’s cock is apparently very fucking into it, if the wetness suddenly staining his underwear is any indication. 

“Y-you like that, huh Richie?” It’s meant to be a tease, of course—no shit Richie likes it, he feels like he could come untouched—but he can see from Bill’s face that it’s also a sincere question, a chance for Richie to back out if things are getting to be too much. No such luck, Big Bill.

“I love it… Daddy.” Richie is hesitant to be the one to ratchet it up a level, but he’s also excited; the word feels genuinely fucking kinky or some shit. Plus, now it’s Bill’s turn to swear as he reaches down and adjusts himself in his jeans, muttering “Fuck, Rich” before regaining a semblance of composure.

“I w-want you completely naked—th-then lay down.” Richie scrambles to obey, shucking his briefs and climbing back into bed. He can’t resist wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking once, slowly, but Bill puts a stop to that immediately, yanking Richie’s hand away.

“W-what a slutty baby girl; Daddy d-didn’t tell you to touch. Be-better apologize, princess.”

Richie whines, hips snapping up of their own accord, and breathes out “Please, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, please touch me.”

Bill, blessedly, doesn’t drag it out, just takes a seat between Richie’s spread legs and begins stroking his cock in long, even strokes, praising Richie all the while. 

“You’re being so g-good for me, Richie, such a sweet little princess, what a good girl.”

Richie can’t do anything, can’t form words, can only moan and beg for more, faster, and that’s  _before_ Bill slows down, looks him in the eye, and asks, “Wh-why don’t you hold your legs open for me, princess?” Richie blushes even harder, freezing at Bill’s order.

Bill shakes his head, “Nuh uh baby. D-do as I say.” Richie squeezes his eyes shut but obeys, hiking his legs up and open. It’s a vulnerable position, but, as always, the heat of embarrassment makes his cock twitch, pre-come beginning to leak obscenely.

“Mm, fuck, princess—you look so beautiful.” 

Bill looks genuinely reverential, and Richie wants to squirm away from his gaze, but before he can move a muscle, Bill slips his hand down, thumb rubbing over Richie’s hole, eliciting loud moans from Richie as he opens his legs wide and shifts his hips, exposing more of himself to Bill.

“Come on, baby girl, use your wo-words, beg Daddy.” Richie feels like this experience might kill him anyway, and so  beg he does. 

“Put your mouth on me, please Daddy, I’ll be so good!”

Bill hums in satisfaction, lowering his head and licking delicately around Richie’s rim. Richie honest-to-god  _mewls_ and Bill’s head snaps up, delighted look on his face like it’s his birthday and Christmas all in one, the smug bastard.

“May-maybe I should st-start calling you kitten instead of princess.”

If Richie had a single ounce of control over his body right now—if his arms and legs weren't complete jello—he would have reached out to smack Bill upside the head. But his body has been rendered useless, and Bill’s head is already dipping back down; somehow, playing the brat seems wholly less important than babbling Bill’s name.

Bill keeps it up, eating Richie nice and steady and sloppy, until Richie thinks he’s going to cry with the need to come. 

“Please Bill, Daddy, I need to come, want to so bad, please let me touch myself.” Bill stops for only a moment, nodding once before redoubling his efforts to send Richie over the edge. 

Richie, for his part, starts pulling on his cock in earnest, long strokes over the length broken up by fast ones over just the head. 

Too soon, Richie feels the pressure build up and he’s coming, announcing his orgasm like a fucking dork, letting his legs fall back onto the bed. Bill pulls away to watch him, eyes dark. 

As Richie works himself through the aftershocks, he says “You didn't ask per-permission, baby girl.” Richie simply whimpers, staring up at Bill, who has a twinkle in his eye like Richie is going to pay for that. 

For now, though, Bill is undoing his jeans, tugging them, along with his boxers, down just enough to pull his cock out. Richie’s mouth waters despite the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s legally dead right now.

“This is not going to take long,” mutters Bill, proceeding to lick his hand and stroke his cock furiously. 

“Gonna come all over your sloppy hole, pri-princess, put your legs back up for D-Daddy.” 

Richie does, begging drowsily “Come all over me, Daddy, wanna be your messy little princess, want it Bill.”

A moment later Bill does just that, tugging and squeezing at his cock until he’s completely spent. He promptly flops down on top of Richie, breathing heavily.  

Richie lets Bill recover for a moment before he speaks again. “See, Billy boy? Wasn’t that a thousand times better than some English paper?” 

Bill chuckles, slapping at Richie’s hip. “Shut up and take a nap, princess.”

Richie just grins in response—not a waste of a day after all.


End file.
